


home is wherever i'm with you

by flaneuse



Series: every day you play [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, post-college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaneuse/pseuds/flaneuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Grantaire secretly moved into Enjolras's apartment. Set before "you are like nobody since i love you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	home is wherever i'm with you

It starts with a single shirt.

Grantaire's favorite shirt to be exact. He's spent the night at Enjolras's, which he does more and more frequently. They've been together for almost two years now. They finally start dating- actually dating, not just fucking and pretending tolerance was they only thing they felt for one another- in their senior year of university. Then Enjolras says he wants to take a year off before going to graduate school, to travel and actually see the world he wants to save so badly.

Grantaire thinks it's the end, and he prepares himself for the speech he's given himself so many times already: Look, it's been fun, but I need to get serious and you're not serious. Not for me.

Instead, Enjolras surprises him because the next words out of his mouth are: "Pick a continent," and Grantaire grins so blinding and so wide that Enjolras just has to kiss him.

They spend the year in South America, taking more planes than Enjolras would have preferred, but he soon realizes it's the only way to travel given the huge expanses of rainforest and mountain that can literally cover an entire country. Apparently you can't actually pull a Motorcycle Diaries these days. He finds out that Grantaire actually speaks fluent Spanish, and Enjolras has studied it (he wants to be at least proficient in all of the most common languages, and as such can get by in Spanish, Mandarin, and a few others) but his accent is atrocious, though he tries so hard, and Grantaire teases him in quick and fluid words to the amusement of everyone around them, and the chagrin of Enjolras himself.

Not everywhere they go is friendly to them, two men who make no secret of their relationship, but that only reinforces Enjolras's passion to make a difference, and even Grantaire is grudgingly impressed. Argentina by far is the most welcoming, with it's laws for marriage equality, and though Grantaire can't stand the accent, and it makes Enjolras even more confused (he comes back pronouncing his double l's as j's and it takes ages for Grantaire to break him of the habit) it's their favorite place.

When they come back after the year, it's weird. They've essentially been living together, but when they come back, they go to separate apartments and Grantaire can't sleep anymore, not alone, but Enjolras doesn't say anything, so neither does he. They've never been good about talking about things anyway.

Jehan and Courfeyrac are talking about moving in together, and it doesn't escape Grantaire's attention. They're all so tied up in each other now. Joly and Bossuet have never not lived together; Grantaire used to live with Bahorel but when he went to South America for the year, Bahorel moved in with Feuilly and Courfeyrac. Combeferre lives with Jehan, because Jehan is the only one quiet enough, he claims, but Courfeyrac stays over there all the time, because he's dating Jehan, and he also loves to annoy Combeferre.

Enjolras is the only one who has always lived alone. He comes from money (though he is loathe to use it for himself) and one of the luxuries he allows himself is a large apartment with a spare bedroom. As such, his apartment is where everyone goes to be together. It's almost never empty, and Grantaire himself is there now more often than not.

He gets himself a tiny apartment and he hates it. It's right on the cusp of the shitty part of town, and there's no working elevator and all the tenants are either junkies or just unsociable. He thinks he does that on purpose, so he won't want to spend any time there, so he'll be at Enjolras's more.

The thing is, Grantaire doesn't have a place he calls home. He never has. He never felt right in his childhood home, and once he got to college, he was in a different dorm for his first two years, then tried an apartment with his friends in the art department, realized that he could never live with another artist, and promptly moved in with Bahorel during his last year. And then he and Enjolras never spent more than a couple weeks in the same place when they were in South America.

He's never been anywhere long, but Enjolras has been in the same apartment for a few years now, and that's the closest thing he can think of to permanence. And there's the matter of Enjolras himself. Grantaire thinks that as long as he's with Enjolras, anywhere can feel like home, but he's not with Enjolras. He's in his apartment, Enjolras is in his own, and though he spends nights there, it isn't the same.

It's ridiculous to him that they aren't living together, but still he doesn't mention it. One of Grantaire's problems is that he will always think himself unworthy of Enjolras, always thinks that just around the corner Enjolras will decide he doesn't want to be with him anymore. He's afraid of the possibility of a 'no' if he outright asks.

So when Grantaire can't find his favorite shirt (a worn, plaid button down that Grantaire says is lucky but can't remember why anymore) one morning and has to borrow one of Enjolras's, at first he doesn't think anything of it. Enjolras is still asleep in bed but Grantaire has to run errands. 

He gets dressed and leaves, stopping by his apartment first to grab a change of clothes, though he doesn't change out of Enjolras's shirt yet, and heads over to his favorite art supply store.

His phone buzzes while he's in the car and he checks it at a red light.

Can you pick up coffee beans from the store?

Enjolras is a pain in the ass and likes to grind his own free-trade coffee beans from that all-natural grocery not too far from his apartment. But Grantaire admits that it's good coffee, though Grantaire is happy to drink pretty much anything, and he's running errands anyway, so he stops by after the art store. 

At the art store, he picks up a new sketchbook and some supplies to draw with, then he drives to the natural grocery. While he's there, he remembers that Enjolras is running low on those weird healthy chips made out of carrots, mostly because Grantaire eats them all, so he picks up those too, along with some ridiculous biodegradable soap for the kitchen. It feels so natural, so domestic that it honestly doesn't occur to Grantaire until later. 

When he's back and he puts everything away without a second thought, Enjolras comes out to make them coffee, and Grantaire goes back into the bedroom to change into his own clothes. That's when he sees it.

His missing shirt is hung up in the closet, tucked in between Enjolras's clothes, and Grantaire isn't sure that Enjolras realizes it isn't his. He must have just seen it and hung it up without a second thought. That's when he thinks of it.

He buys groceries, not just for Enjolras but things Grantaire likes to eat too, he knows how to work Enjolras's stupid coffee machine. He feels at home there, and that's enough to Grantaire. He should be living there, officially.

Then he goes back into the living room, having forgotten to change back into his own clothes, and he can't find the sketchbook that he just bought.

He's looking for it when Enjolras comes out and opens one of the drawers in the coffee table.

"I didn't want it left out, so I put it in here. The drawer was empty anyways."

And that settles it. Grantaire is moving in with Enjolras. And he's going to do it without Enjolras knowing. It seems so easy to situate not just himself, but his belongings into the apartment, and he's not sure why he didn't think of it before. And he knows that once he's moved in, there's no way Enjolras will kick him out. 

Enjolras looks so blase about the entire thing, like he hasn't just essentially given Grantaire his own space in the apartment. Grantaire realizes he's frozen when Enjolras gives him a strange look. 

Grantaire flops down onto the couch as unsuspiciously as he can and pulls out the sketchbook. When Enjolras remains standing, Grantaire beckons to him and to his surprise, Enjolras comes. He sets his mug on the table and tucks his feet up under him, leaning into Grantaire's side. Enjolras isn't usually this affectionate, but he's been overworking himself in grad school, and he let himself sleep in this morning. He's still a little groggy, and Grantaire likes him that way.

Grantaire sets his sketchbook on his knee and buries a hand in Enjolras's hair, which is getting shaggy, and scratches lightly. Enjolras makes a deep throated noise of contentment, and Grantaire feels a smile tugging at his lips. Yeah, he's gonna live here. He's going to wake up to this every morning if it kills him.

When Enjolras's breathing evens out and Grantaire realizes he's asleep, he knows he's not going to get any drawing done, so he just puts the sketchbook back in its place (it has a place now, Grantaire's art has a place in this apartment and that means Grantaire does too) and tips his head back, closing his eyes.

He wakes up in the opposite position: his head is in Enjolras's lap, and Enjolras is idly petting him. In his other hand is a thick tome: The Origins and Role of Same-Sex Relations in Human Societies, it reads.

"Light reading?" Grantaire asks, and Enjolras turns a page.

"It's fascinating," he murmurs, and Grantaire can't wait until Enjolras needs reading glasses. He pictures thick, black frames perched on Enjolras's long nose, and he likes the picture it makes. He likes it very much, in fact, and he shifts to press into Enjolras's side, mouthing at his neck.

Enjolras tries to push him off, though his heart isn't in it.

"Come on," Grantaire says into his skin. "Let's have a lazy day."

"Every day is a lazy day for you," Enjolras scolds lightly, but he closes his book, and Grantaire knows the battle is won. "You just want to have sex."

Grantaire pulls back, looking at Enjolras quizzically. "Well, yeah." He says, like it should have been obvious.

"Would you like me to suck you off?" Enjolras asks, like he's curious, like Grantaire's dick is something he wants to study. It shouldn't turn Grantaire on, but it does, and he nods, unable to speak, moving to lie back on the couch as Enjolras crawls over him.

"Would you like to fuck my face?" Enjolras asks as he makes his way down Grantaire's body. Grantaire is still fully clothed, as is Enjolras, and Grantaire kind of feels like a teenager again, except what Enjolras is saying is something he'd never have thought of in his teenage years. 

Enjolras keeps his voice light and clinical, and he toys with the button of Grantaire's jeans, keeping his touches teasing on the strip of skin that's exposed by Grantaire's shirt riding up. "You could come in my mouth," He remarks as he pulls down Grantaire's pants and boxers down to the tops of his thighs, enough to release his cock but not enough to let Grantaire to move freely. He's trapped, entirely at Enjolras's mercy.

"Would you like to feel the way my throat tightens around you as I swallow you down?"

Enjolras doesn't wait for an answer, just takes Grantaire in one go. Grantaire groans long and loud, his head falling back and hitting the couch. Nobody else knows what Enjolras looks like on his knees, mouth stretched wide, lips red and abused. Grantaire can barely look at Enjolras when Enjolras is blowing him. The image alone could make him come (has made him come, when Enjolras isn't around and all Grantaire has is his imagination and his hands), but the image and the action is too much.

So Grantaire screws his eyes shut, only opening them and looking down at the last moment, when his release is on hand. Enjolras's head bobs up and down, and he hums around Grantaire's dick. He pulls off almost entirely, flattening his tongue against the tip and sucking hard. He looks up through long lashes, his hair almost obscuring his gaze entirely, but he locks eyes with Grantaire and that's all it takes.

Grantaire comes hard, and when he sits up, Enjolras does too. His tongue flits out to catch a drop of come on his lip, and he wipes a hand across his mouth. The movement is so insouciant and Grantaire feels desire, though his body isn't up to acting on it.

"Fuck," Grantaire says, drained, and Enjolras shrugs his shoulders.

"Maybe later."

Grantaire rolls his eyes and pulls Enjolras to him. "Come here," he says, kissing Enjolras's temple. He lies back again, but this time Enjolras is over him, arms braced on either side of Grantaire's head. Grantaire gets his hands in Enjolras's pants, wrapping sure fingers around his cock. Enjolras is already so close, and it doesn't take long before his arms are trembling to support himself, and he comes with his head buried in Grantaire's neck, biting into the soft skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

 

It's the second time they fall asleep together on the couch that day, and when they wake up, Enjolras has to rush and get ready for his night class. Grantaire uses the opportunity to sneak back to his apartment, but this time, he has a plan.

He grabs some of his clothes, but not all, and the art supplies he uses most. He puts that, and his favorite books, into a backpack and spends the period that Enjolras is in class hiding them all over his apartment. The art supplies go in the drawer, the books are snuck onto the shelves that line almost every room of the house, and the clothes, well, Grantaire isn't positive on what to do with those.

He rarely bothers hanging up anything he owns unless it's a coat or the few dressy clothes he has, so the closet is out. He starts rooting around in Enjolras's dresser and when he finds that there's some extra space in a few of the drawers, he decides that's good enough, so he unceremoniously dumps his things in what he hopes are the right places. Then he realizes that all of Enjolras's clothes are folded neatly, and he has to take them all out and fold his too. 

He's still not sure if this is going to work. Enjolras tends to have a place for everything, so surely he'll notice if something is there that doesn't belong, but what's done is done, Grantaire has made up his mind, and he's going to go through with it.

He spends the time waiting for Enjolras waiting to get back quietly freaking out, unable to draw, unable to read. He keeps looking around, trying to see if anything looks out of the ordinary, and he can feel a crick starting to develop in his neck.

Enjolras remarks on it when he gets back from class, hanging his fucking leather satchel on the back of a chair, unwinding his scarf from around his neck.

"You look like a tweaker," he says with a raised brow, and Grantaire is so not smooth.

"Just too much coffee," he lies, and Enjolras lets it go, because it's a well-known fact that he's trying to replace alcohol with a less harmful beverage, and ever since their weeks in Colombia, no coffee here has ever been good enough for him.

They call for take out, because Enjolras is exhausted and Grantaire's good for cooking breakfast, but not much else. They eat it on the couch and watch Troy, because Enjolras likes to point out all the inaccuracies and Grantaire minored in classics so he eats it up.

Achilles and Patroclus are in Achilles' tent, and Enjolras scoffs under his breath.

"Cousins, my ass." He mutters, and Grantaire grins. He's so comfortable here. He and Enjolras have a rhythm. It's not as if they don't fight anymore, because they do, often and loudly, and mostly superficially-fighting seriously takes too much out of them, cuts too deeply, exposes all the things about themselves that they're not sure they can fix. But most of the time it's easy. 

Grantaire wants to to go sleep next to Enjolras and wake up next to him in the morning. He wants Enjolras so ingrained into him that he can't recognize his own scent anymore, sharp cinnamon replaced by Enjolras's heady wood musk. He's never wanted anything more, and it scares him. It's why he's being such an idiot about this.

Courfeyrac tells Grantaire just to ask Enjolras about it, and Combeferre agrees, but they're both far too sensible to appeal to Grantaire's panic. Jehan thinks it's romantic, but that's no comfort to Grantaire either. Bahorel's an asshole and thinks it's hilarious. 

So he's sneaking around, which almost never ends up well, but Grantaire is well-versed in self-sabotage. It's a credit to Enjolras's patience that he'd stuck fast with Grantaire while Grantaire allowed himself to be loved by Enjolras. Though of course the same could be said in the reverse, because Grantaire almost went crazy waiting for Enjolras to admit to himself that he could love Grantaire. 

That's why they work so well together, why they could never love anyone but each other. Or at least, Grantaire knows he could never love another like he loves Enjolras, not as wholeheartedly, as all-consuming. And Grantaire is so scared that if he mentions it, that if he shows any inkling of dissatisfaction, Enjolras will leave him. Feuilly tells him his insecurity stopped being endearing years ago.

It makes Grantaire clutch at Enjolras a little tighter that night. He presses his face into Enjolras's shirt; Enjolras is sitting up in their (no, Grantaire corrects himself, it's still just Enjolras's, he doesn't live there, not yet) bed, reading. Enjolras just shifts to hold the book in one hand so he can wrap the other arm around Grantaire, thumb rubbing comforting circles into his skin. He starts to read aloud, and he's reading the Iliad, Troy having put him in the mood.

"You're such a douche," Grantaire murmurs, half asleep. "Nobody reads this shit for fun."

"Says the one who studied this 'shit' in undergrad," Enjolras retorts, and Grantaire just burrows closer.

"I'm an artist, fuck you, I just did that to piss off my parents." Grantaire says just before falling asleep, and resolves to draw Enjolras in full Greek regalia just to get back at him. He misses Enjolras's fond smile, the way Enjolras rubs the fabric of his shirt in between his fingertips. It's Enjolras's shirt that Grantaire is sleeping in tonight, and Enjolras likes the way it looks on him, likes it when Grantaire inserts himself into all of Enjolras's spaces. He's spent most of his life closed off. His parents were never that affectionate, he didn't have a lot of extended family. And the posh private school life didn't exactly lend itself to creating lifelong friendships. More like lifelong partnerships, where everyone tried to attach themselves to the most well-known names.

It's probably why when he'd met Combeferre, then by extension Courfeyrac and Joly (and by extension of Joly, Bossuet), he attached himself beyond what he'd thought he was capable of. They couldn't have cared less about his last name, but they all cared so fiercely about Enjolras himself, though of course, none more than Grantaire. What he and Grantaire have isn't what he'd envisioned for himself when he was younger. He thought he might meet a fellow activist, and they would stage a revolution together, change the world with their love. He was afraid that he'd end up like his parents, in a marriage of convenience and power. 

What he has with Grantaire is so far off from even his wildest imaginings that he didn't even know how far gone he was until it was too late. He's not going to jeopardize it for anything. So if that means they don't exactly talk about anything, and he has to pretend not to notice the fact that half of his drawers are full of clothes that don't belong to him because it makes Grantaire feel better, he'll do it. He makes sure to wake up early to clear some space in the bathroom, though.

 

The next couple weeks are torture for Grantaire. He's trying to be sneaky about it: he brings over only the most important items first, like clothes and the rest of his art supplies (and where Grantaire's art is, that's where Grantaire will be), then he starts bringing over everything else.

The day that Grantaire hangs up his framed print of James Abbot McNeill Whistler's Nocturne in Black and Gold, he's pretty sure he's going to have a heart attack. But Enjolras doesn't say anything, doesn't even glance at it. Grantaire is writing it off as stress; he's too busy to notice anything going on, and it is true that Enjolras barely seems to be in his own apartment lately. But quite frankly, this is just absurd.

He's twitchy as he waits for Enjolras to come home that night, and he almost drinks except Enjolras no longer keeps alcohol in his apartment as a rule, and Grantaire had resisted bringing his own stash over to avoid suspicion. That, and he knows that the surest way to anger Enjolras, to make him disregard whatever Grantaire has to say, is to be drunk when he says it.

Enjolras gets in at around seven; his classes don't end so late on Thursday nights. Grantaire is waiting for him in the living room, in the dark. He tries to look imposing but mostly succeeds in looking like a psychopath.

"Jesus," Enjolras mutters when he walks in the door and switches on the light. "You scared me."

"Are you blind?" Grantaire blurts.

"Excuse me?" Enjolras asks.

"You must be, either that or you're purposefully trying to make me go crazy."

"I'm too tired for this," Enjolras sighs and drops his bag on the floor, perching on the couch by Grantaire. "What are you talking about?"

"Do I have to bring over all my furniture? Do I have to paint the walls?" Grantaire knows he sounds ridiculous but he can't stop himself.

The corner of Enjolras's mouth twitches upwards and Grantaire lets out an aggravated sigh.

"Fuck, you're so infuriating, I don't know why I even wanted to live with you in the first place." It's out of Grantaire's mouth before he can stop himself, and he has to physically restrain himself from clapping his hands over his mouth. 

When the twitch of Enjolras's lips turns into a full blown smile, Grantaire just crosses his arms over his chest and looks away.

"Is that what you wanted?" He asks. "Did you just want to hear me say it?"

Grantaire only looks at Enjolras when Enjolras kneels in front of him and puts a hand on his face, gently forcing him to look him in the eye.

"Yes, you idiot." Enjolras can be so stoic, his face like a stone, but his eyes speak volumes. Right now they crinkle with mirth. "I asked you to spend a year with me, traveling. I asked you to give up everything, all the plans you had-" and here Grantaire scoffs, because of course he didn't have plans, "to spend the year with me. How could you think I didn't want to live with you?" He asks, and his voice gets soft, and Grantaire's chest feels tight.

Grantaire shrugs, self-deprecating.

"Did you honestly think all your stuff would just magically fit in my apartment? I've been moving everything around to make space for you for weeks. And you didn't have to hide it either. I don't want your things hidden from view, trying not to draw attention. I want them just like I want you: loud and messy and everywhere, so I can't escape you, even if I wanted to." Enjolras looks a little winded from his own declaration, just the tiniest hint of self-consciousness creeping into this expression.

Grantaire mumbles something and Enjolras makes a questioning noise.

"I want to be everywhere too, with you. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a home."

Enjolras surges forward and kisses Grantaire hungrily, and he responds in turn. Enjolras is still kneeling on the floor though, and when Grantaire tries to wrap his arms around Enjolras's back, Enjolras tips backwards and sends them both crashing to the floor.

They're silent for a moment, Grantaire's knee dangerously close to Enjolras's groin, and his hands splayed out on Enjolras's chest.

"You know this means you're paying rent, right?" He asks, and Grantaire rolls his eyes.

"I want to move out already." He says, and Enjolras runs a hand up Grantaire's arm, fingers teasing.

"But if you move out," he says, "then we don't get to christen our apartment by having sex in every room."

Grantaire pretends to think it over, though hearing the words 'our apartment' in conjunction with each other would have sealed the deal on its own, then sits up. "Well," he pulls off his shirt. "We might as well start here."

Enjolras chuckles, and it's a beautiful sound. 

Grantaire fucks him into the carpet, and Enjolras's back is all but rubbed raw by the end of it. Enjolras's hips snap up to meet Grantaire's thrusts, and Enjolras comes first, throwing his head back, hands fisting in the carpet. Grantaire pulls out suddenly, flipping Enjolras onto his stomach, and Enjolras goes willingly, arching his back, bringing himself up on his hands and knees.

Grantaire can see the rugburn down Enjolras's back, and he leans down to taste the hot skin before thrusting back in, fucking Enjolras in earnest. The slap of skin against skin and Grantaire's grunts fill the air, and Enjolras already feels so fucked out, and Grantaire is leaving him open and raw. It feels so good, and he would be hard again if he hadn't just come. Grantaire's thrusts become deeper and longer, and Enjolras pushes back to meet each one, to draw Grantaire even further in himself. Grantaire grips Enjolras's hips tightly as he finally comes, and Enjolras bites down on his lip, because Grantaire is filling him up and it feels incredible. 

They tend to switch it up every so often, neither of them would definitively call themselves a top or a bottom, but Enjolras thinks if he had to pick, he'd rather get fucked by Grantaire for the rest of his life. 

Grantaire pulls out gingerly, and drapes himself over Enjolras's back, pressing kisses and the occasional bite down his spine. Fuck, Enjolras thinks to himself. He loves the way Grantaire worships his body, overstimulating him until he physically cannot take it anymore. Grantaire bites at the base of his spine, sucking at the skin. 

Enjolras can't stop himself from letting out a moan. Grantaire, emboldened, licks further down, where Enjolras is stretched and red.

Enjolras hisses, but he arches back into it. "Grantaire," he says.

Grantaire flicks his tongue out, sucks, and pulls away, finally releasing Enjolras, who slumps forward, exhausted.

Grantaire all but collapses next to him.

"Tomorrow morning I'm fucking you over the kitchen table," Enjolras says, nonchalant, and Grantaire nods.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I could fit that in, considering we live together now."

He leans back over Enjolras and kisses him soundly, feels Enjolras smile into his mouth, and thinks that this is what home feels like, and it's his.

**Author's Note:**

> Send comments/questions/concerns/and maybe even prompts over to grantairer.tumblr.com xoxo seriously, come talk to me, I love to hear from you :)


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